Broken Pasta Bowl
by BunnysBigCookie
Summary: Italy and Germany have been together forever! But when an American bet goes a little /too/ wrong, will a bit of cockyness downfall and cause a huge diaster? And will there be a new "Italy" to Germany and a new "Germany" to Italy? And maybe even /more/?


**AN: Alright this is my first ever fanfic EVER. so yeah it will suck.**

**Characters: America, Germany, Italy, England, Other Allies get a short appearances, Relatives get some appearences, and Italian Mafia gets a short appearence as well.**

**Pairings: Germerica, Some Gerita, A snippet of Rochu, A snippet of PruHun, A bit of PruAus, Some SwissAus, and some minor pairings as well. And a surprise crack pairing later on into the story ewe  
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**Rating: T for this chapter because of the language. (though other chapters might contain M.)  
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**Reviews would be helpful :D Enjoy if you can~**

**P.S. Yeah I couldn't find a Spanish disaster in the 1860s because that was when the rest would go down *you'll understand later into the story* so I just but the oil spill in the 1990s where a Greek tanker spilled a lot of oil near Spain. So yeah. I needed Romano to be in it :U  
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><p>"<em>No listen to me it's not what you-"<em>

"_Then what REALLY happened! TELL ME!"_

"_I was probably drunk!"_

"_L-LIES! Prussia said you guys didn't get drunk because it was on a Saturday! You go out drinking on Fridays! And America said you didn't even sound close to drunk when you came over! Dont try to lie to me you lying cheating BASTARD!"_

He threw the phone at the wall, waking his brother up.

"CHE PALLE FELICIANO I WAS SLEEPING!" he yelled out from upstairs.

"I-I don't care." he whimpered, sniffling. "If you dont like the noise go back to Spains or something."

"Are you stupid fratello? I can't go back there! They are still fixing up his house from the oil spill due to those Greek bastards!" he barked.

Italy bowed his head in shame. "Oh yeah. Those greek bastards. Not as bad as those German bastards though . . ." he muttered.

Romano widened his eyes a bit "Che cosa? I thought you loved that Potato Bastard! What has gone into you? I'm not saying that you should take it back but still! It's not like you to call him a bastard! Hell, you don't call anyone a bastard like I do! What's going on?"

Italy looked over at his brother, his face red from crying with a angry glare. "Apparently he has a thing for Americans now. Now if you excuse me, I must buy a gun to shoot myself with." He started walking towards the door.

Romano watched his brother with a frustrated look on his face. He ran down the stairs and grabbed his brother's shoulder "Wait so you're saying that potato bastard loves that hamburger bastard more than you?" He tried to keep his energy from coming out so he wouldn't cheer. He hated that bastard and now that his brother has no one, he is pretty happy. He suddenly burst into a cheer "THE POTATO BASTARD IS GONE NO ONE CAN BUG MY FRATELLO AND MAKE HIM A MACHO BASTARD THIS IS ONE OF THE GREATEST DAYS OF MY LIFE AFTER BEING WITH SPAIN! WHOO-HOOOOOO! SIAMO VITTORIOSI!" He bursted out.

Italy's lip trembled. In the time when he was at his saddest of course his fratello had to be such a scossa. "D-D-DAMMIT FRATELLO STOP BEING SUCH A SCOSSA AND ACTUALLY CARE FOR ONCE!" he screamed. "WHAT IF SPAIN CHEATED ON YOU WITH FRANCE OR SOMETHING? I BET YOU WOULDN'T WANT ME TO CHEER THAT SPAIN IS OUT OF YOUR LIFE! I WOULD ACTUALLY COMFORT YOU AND HELP TALK IT OUT INSTEAD OF BEING SUCH A HEARTLESS IDIOTA!" He opened the door and slammed it behind him, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't believe his brother just yelled that. What kind of brother was he?

Romano's lip trembled. He had never been called a heartless idiota by his fratello. Ever. He felt a stream of guilt run through his spine. Why did he just scream that in front of his brother. He must admit, he is a _little _upset for his fratello, but he never thought that he would do such a thing. He sat down on the couch and looked at his reflection in glass of wine he was drinking before he had a short nap. "Am I really that much of a heartless idiota? I mean, he did have a point. Him cheering if Spain was out of my life _would_ make me mad at him."Ugh . . . I feel bad now dammit. Stupid me. Stupid potato bastard. Stupid everybody." he muttered. He burried his face in his hands and actually cried a little bit.

He slowly took his face off his hands for a second as he looked at the phone at the foot of the wall. It was thrown pretty hard, but it still looked as good as new. Which meant it worked. He had to do something. He picked of the phone carefully and examined it. Yep. It still worked. He pressed the down button on the phone as he searched through the contacts. "Austria, Belgium, Britain, Bulgaria, no, no . . ." he muttered as he scanned through the names of various countries. "France, Fratello, AH-HAH!" he yelled out as he found the name he was looking for. He clicked the center button and then pressed the green phone button and held the phone against his ear, tapping his foot impatiently.

_"Oh? Ciao. I wanted to talk about what you did to my fratello, you stupid potato bastard."_ He muttered through the phone. He heard a gulp. He better feel guilty. He is now messing with Southern Italia. That stronzo.

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><p><em>Che palle<em>- What the hell

_Fratello- _Brother

_Che Cosa- _What_  
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_Siamo Vittoriosi- _We are victorious_  
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_Scossa-_ Jerk

_Idiota- _Dumbass_  
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_Ciao- _Hello_  
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_Italia- _Italy_  
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_Stronzo-_ Fucker


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